If I was a Serial Killer
by Day Soley
Summary: Before reading this you must free your mind of everything you were taught since you were a child. This story is not for the faint of heart and it will throw your entire world out of order. What if you were given the chance to kill the one's who hurt you?
1. Survival

Step 1: Survive

I have been through a lot in my mediocre life but the hardest thing for me to do was to survive. My dad was an abusive alcoholic. He always abused my mother and me. I remember one night I got home and they were fighting. I was just up the street at a friends house but I could hear from a good ways away that I was in for something I would regret. As I walked in, my mother was lying on the floor holding her legs. I didn't see my dad right away, but I wish I had. He came out swinging with a pan in one hand, and his fist balled in the other. I was hit with the pan. As soon as I hit the floor my mother panicked. She ran towards me but not fast enough. My father was already recoiled and ready for another swing. Blackout.

When I came to I was in a hospital. Apparently I had a severe concussion, head trauma, blah blah blah. I wasn't going to die so my father didn't care. Personally I don't think he would have cared if I did. My mother was a mess though. Beaten and bruised, the doctor asked her what happened and she said she was carrying me to the house, from the car, when we fell down the stairs. The least she could have done was come up with a proper lie right? My dad felt no remorse to this. It came natural to him. To beat his wife and seven year old son came as natural as other people drink coffee. I hated him, but what could I do? I was a kid.

Eventually he calmed down, or we stayed out of his way. We learned how things worked in his house. Until of course I moved in with my grandparents. I got to taste a little bit of joy with that. My grandparents always treated me nice, and they knew my mother was being treated horribly, but what could they do. She didn't wanna leave him, so there wasn't much they could do. My mother stayed with him until she died at the age of 38. I was 18. At this point I wanted to murder him, but I wasn't ready. Like I said, this is just step one.

Having such a shitty childhood I took matters into my own hands. If God put me on this planet, he could very well take me off. I tied the noose above my mothers grave, on an Oak tree that grew over. As I climbed the tombstone I realized that no one ever really cared enough about my mom. They pitied her sure. They always felt sorry for her, but no one really offered their help. I climbed off the tombstone and wrote on my mothers grave with a rock. (I'll see you soon.) Then I climbed back up and out the rope around my neck. As a final word I whispered to the world. "Let's see how you do without me." Then I leaped. As I lay hanging there, gently feeling my fate tighten, I couldn't help but think if this was the way that all people will end up. Driven by madness to such a degree that they're reduced to suicide. Before I could think any more though, I heard a snap. Then I blacked out.

When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was how dark it was. It was obviously night time, but at that point in time I thought I was in the bowels of hell. I looked around and saw my mothers tombstone, cracked in half from where I must have landed on it. The crack separated her name and date of death from my message to her. Apparently it wasn't my time. The Oak tree that had stood there for so many years before I was born had cracked in half. Maybe it was lighting, maybe it was faith, but I know this much now. It was just the beginning of Step 1.

After that I tried several other suicide attempts that you would believe to be bullshit, but I believe to be historical. I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills, passed out, and when I woke up I was surrounded by vomit. I loaded a 6 mm pistol and pointed directly in my mouth. I pulled the trigger five times, (Which was all the bullets I had for it) and they all turned out to be duds. If there was a way to kill myself that I didn't know about, I would have tried it. I couldn't bare living in a world where all I had to rely on was my father. My grandparents passed shortly after my mother did and I knew it was my father that killed her. I couldn't prove it, and there was nothing else I could do about it, but I knew. Of course, if he killed her, it would only be justifiable if someone returned the favor.

After inheriting my grandparents house, I settled in nicely. I had to come up with a plan to get rid of my father for good. No more abusing anyone. He had to die. So I came up with something. I would sneak into his house and find his loaded shotgun he always keeps in the closet. Then I would wait for him to come home from the bar, and as soon as I laid eyes on him, I would pull the trigger. Now you may ask yourself, what kind of human being could consciously consider premeditated murder? If it makes you feel any better, don't consider me human. Trust me, things get a lot worst.

So I waited. Sure enough at three o clock on the dot he rolled into the house drunk as can be. I lifted the barrel and waited for him to circle the corner. At first site I pull the trigger. POW! Louder than I thought it would be but I hear a thump after. Blood covers the walls. The sickening smell of death quickly enters ever pore in my body. Hopefully the neighbors have no idea what just happened. I'm sure the shot was loud, but as abusive as my dad was, I'm sure they won't think anything of it. The mood settles. I lower the gun. As twisted as my mind is at this point, I want to see him. I need to make sure he's dead. Make sure he's suffered for what he's done. I turn the corner to get a full glimpse of him. Or what I thought was him. His new girlfriend Trixie lay there on the ground, gunshot wound to the leg. Apparently he wasn't home, but she was. As she regains consciousness I panic. What will I do, I just attempted to murder my father and shot his whore of a girlfriend. She looks up at me and starts yelling. Again, not worried about the neighbors. What more can I do? I load the gun and this time fire at her head.

I'm long gone before any police arrive. Having worn gloves I don't need to worry about fingerprints. My shoe prints were already all over that house. There was no way I could get blamed for this. My adrenaline was pumping. My feet were racing each other, and all I could think of was going back tomorrow for my father. Of course I never got that chance. As soon as police showed up they accused my dad of first degree murder. He was arrested and put away for a long time. Did I feel bad about all of this? Of course I did. I still didn't get to kill that son of a bitch. But the point is I was still alive and ticking. Survival. Now you know what it's about. Even though I've gotten one kill, that doesn't quite make me a serial killer. That just makes me a murderer. I have 11 more steps to go.


	2. Step 2: Lose Everything

Step 2: Lose Everything

After sending my father to jail, and killing his girlfriend, I went into kind of a depressing state. I know, who would have thought I would be depressed from cleansing the world of his ignorance, but I did. A friend of mine, we'll call him Mark, came to stay with me in my grandparents house. HE wasn't the smartest person in the world, but he did contribute to my conversations. I told him some of what happened with my father, at least the police's version, and he put it aside. He never once questioned me on the whole ordeal. After he got settled we started thinking of a way we could pay the bills. I was only a kid of 13 so I couldn't get a job. The only reason I got the house is because my dad thought if he gave it to me somehow or another he would get it from me. Little did he know he would be imprisoned.

Mark and I went out one day to try and find someone we could get some kind of job with. It wasn't easy. Then I met her. Her name was Alice. She was an amazingly attractive blonde. Seeing as how she was only 15, I don't feel the need to describe her physical attractions, but as I was a 13 year old boy living on my own, she was ravishing. Mark was quickly attracted to her too. Sitting at a Pizza hut just staring at her, we both got to thinking, what if we could get her to come over? What if one of us could be with this girl? Then it hit me. I could. I lived alone. No rules. My time had come. I could finally be happy. For those of you who thought that Mark and I would attract the girl, and then proceed to rape her, you are reading the wrong should be reading a self help guide to insanity. Everything I do in this little escapade of mine, are completely justifiable, and rape is never justifiable.

We introduced ourselves and she was immediately interested in me. How could I tell? I'm not exactly sure, but I had a hunch, and I turned out to be correct. She spoke to her mother, who was the manager of the place, and told her of our situation. Her mother offered us under the counter jobs. We started working that same day. I was in the back cooking, and Mark was a busboy. We enjoyed working, but I enjoyed being off more. Seeing as how Alice was the daughter of the manager, her mother worked a lot. Alice had a lot of unsupervised afternoons. As did I.

We fooled around almost every day, and eventually she was the one that I lost "It" to. It wasn't a big deal for me. For her it was. Especially since she was turning 18 soon. A 16 and 18 year old sleeping together was unthought of in our little town. I didn't let it bother me. I was a young fool in love. I hadn't a care in the world. Until "The" night. It was late October, the day after Alice had turned 18. Mark, also being 2 years older than me, was watching TV in the living room. I awoke to find no one by my side. I walked in thinking, "Maybe she went to work," and what I saw drove me back to the point of insanity. There was my girlfriend, and my best friend, having sex in my living room. I came close to blacking out with rage but instead, I held it in. I told no one of anything I knew. I walked out the back door and left.

As I was walking around my hood filled with rage, a thought came to me. I don't have to stay here. If I would sale my house, I could make a killing, then I could leave this place for good. Start a new life where I'm not haunted by the murder, and the cheating girlfriend, and everything that follows. I had just one small problem with my plan. Who would buy a house from a 16 year old boy? Of course as quick witted as I was, I already had a soloution. Mark would sale it for me. It would take a lot to calm my nerves and be good with him after what I witnessed, but I will make it happen.

I went home several hours later after figuring out every detail to my plan. Mark was there, still watching TV, and Alice was gone. "Hey buddy" He said to me, as if nothing had happened. Then I told him. I told him that I had planned on selling the house to move to Texas with some family of mine. I told him I would share most of the profit with him. I tld him that when it was over he would be doing a lot better than he was now. And he bought it.

Two weeks later we had a buyer. We went through escrow, which at the time I had no idea what that was, we stayed in a motel, and when the time was up all the money was in my bank. I withdrew everything and started out. I got a bus ticket to Austin and prepared for the best. I probably should never prepare for the best.

I hopped a bus, and left without looking back. I didn't say goodbye to anyone. I didn't leave any notes. This life was dead to me. At least that's what I thought until I made it 5 hours into my trip. I had never been alone. Since I was little I always had someone. My mother, Mark, Alice. Loneness was not my strong suit. Just me and a backpack of money. We switched off in New Orleans and there was a five hour lay over so I took a walk to the nearest clothing store and changed. I couldn't bathe but I still felt a little better. I witnessed a guy stealing a womans purse though. He did it so nonchalantly. He sat beside her for a minute and engaged her in conversation. After a little while she would turn to look for her child who was trying on a shirt, and he slipped her purse in his coat. When she looked back she never noticed it was missing. He said his farewells and he was gone. If he knew that I had a bag full of money, I can promise you he would rob me. I hate people who take advantage of kindness. The lady was being kind and courteous to him by talking to him. She could have blown him off. He was dirty and his clothes were torn apart. Most people would tell him to fuck off. I'm sure he needed it, but still.

After getting back on the bus I look to the rear and guess who I see. Dirty smelly mugger boy, but this time theres something different about him. He reeks of liquor. If he would have used the money he had stolen for new clothes, or a place to stay, I would have been fine with this, but he used it for liquor. This did not sit well with me. I sat right next to him though, keeping a tight grip on my bag. "Hi how are you?" I asked him. A smile swept his face. "I'm great and yourself?" We had a long and tiresome conversation the whole time. He was telling me that he had just gotten out of rehab and was going to stay with his sister in Austin. She didn't know he was drinking, but he was going to keep that to his self. He didn't expect to stay off the booze, but his sister had a place and she would take care of him. Although he didn't say it, I could tell he would prey on more innocent people to get by with his addiction. The rage built up even more. With the separation of everyone I've ever known, and this new prick being a complete asshole to the world, I suddenly discovered a part of me that I hadn't felt in years. A part of me that I once feared, but now was coming to terms with. At the next stop I walked into the convenient store and bought a large hunting knife. Then I followed the man into the bathroom. He never saw me coming. As he was pissing I reached over his neck, which wasn't that hard seeing as how he was shorter than me, and sliced his throat before he had a chance to respond. Watching him bleed, I took well care not to get any blood on me. His head hit the toilet as he gasped for life. His eyes begged me to help him, but his heart begged for me to finish it. I watched as he squirmed. His soon to be lifeless face began shedding tears. I rubbed the knife on his cheek and collected one. "Tears. These tears fall on shallow ground. You are being punished for your wicked crimes against the very people who extend a helping hand. You are not worth saving. You are worth nothing to anyone. You're scum, and on this day, your judgement day, may you realize it." I closed the bathroom stall with him inside it and crawled through the bottom. My withdrawals from my friends and family had gotten the best of me. I climbed back on the bus, took my same seat, gripped my bag tight, and fell asleep.

When I awoke, I heard a lady talking about a dead guy they just found at the last bus stop. They said a little boy had escaped from his parents and ran into the bathroom where he was trying to hide from them. After discovering that one of the stall doors were locked he crawled underneath it to find a dead body. I'm sure this boy will be traumatized for life. Small price to pay for the weight that's been lifted off of my shoulders. After two killings my life was starting to get a little easier, and a little more hectic. Then the voices started. But that would be the beginning of step three.


End file.
